


250

by newtedison



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: 250, Drabble, M/M, Page 250, gay sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4043482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtedison/pseuds/newtedison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	250

The warmth of Tommy’s fingers covers up the coolness of the metal, the winter of the steel, the weapon, the gun. He can’t feel the cold. He can only feel Thomas’ skin, rough and dry after running through the endless heat of the Scorch, chasing a cure that wasn’t real, chasing a dream of everyone being okay and surviving, which also isn’t real. But it’s still his hand, and his fingers are surprisingly delicate as they grip an item made specifically for death, even though his hands, his tear-stained eyes, his shaky breaths are full of life. It covers all the cold. All the pain.  
Newt knows he shouldn’t be thinking of the last time he held Tommy’s hand, after they survived Phase Three and they were reunited after weeks of wondering and more questions that WICKED wouldn’t answer. He took his hand and he squeezed it tight, not caring what he thought, not caring who saw, because knowing Tommy was okay threw all of Newt’s self-consciousness out the window. His feelings were real, and they were all that mattered.  
Still, the memories come, though they appear red and jaded through his diseased mind. He can feel his brain trying to manipulate the memory, tell him that Thomas left him, that he’d never want Newt to hold his hand, to hug him, to kiss him.   
But Newt has some strength left in him. Enough to hold on to this; this dry, scratched hand, warm over the coolness of the gun.  
Tommy’s eyes are red and watery. Every inch of him is shaking, quivering, denying what’s in front of him. Denying what he knows will happen, what he has to do. Newt doesn’t want him to redeem himself, or repent; those are only words, constructs of the Flare. He needs Tommy to do this. So he knows that he loved him enough to set him free.  
“Please, Tommy,” Newt manages to croak out, every fiber of his being struggling against it. He knows it is all he has left. “Please.”  
There are unspoken words, words that have been clawing their way through him since the moment the sun came back. He can feel them, at the back of his throat, chattering through his teeth, on the tip of his tongue. He can’t say them, but he knows Tommy can hear them.  
Thank you. I love you. Goodbye.  
Tommy closes his eyes.


End file.
